Between The Lines
by Miss Peg
Summary: Rigsby and Van Pelt collection. Current Update: Afterwards - Van Pelt considers her life post Rigsby and O'Laughlin.
1. Defying The Rules

**Title: **Defying The Rules

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating: **K+

**Characters:** Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer: **I've spent the last two years not owning Skins...I doubt I own The Mentalist either.

**Notes: **Written for The Mentalist meme on Livejournal. Prompt by tromana. My first ever TM fic, so please be nice. ;)

**Defying The Rules**

Defying the rules was not in their best interest. They knew that and yet they couldn't help but continue to do so. They were in love, albeit a very new, very fragile love. But love all the same. They dated. They went out for coffee in the middle of Saturday afternoon and to the movies after work. They danced in nightclubs and took trips to small towns.

The rules were clear, had always been very clear from well before the start. Grace knew the day she started at the CBI that she wasn't to fall in love with her co-workers. She accepted that and promised herself she wouldn't cross the line. Until she'd walked into the bullpen and Wayne Rigsby stood up, his hand outstretched and a firm grin across his lips. He stunned her into silence and from that moment on the rules always hovered in the back of her mind as though waiting for the moment she would need reminding.

The moment came and went, they kissed. They kissed for forty-five seconds before her thoughts swiftly reminded her that she was stepping into water that could drown her. They continued kissing.

Defying the rules had never been her intention, not even when she realised how she felt, or how deeply she felt it. By then it was too late. Too late to turn back, to ask herself to give up the love, give up the companionship she so desperately desired. Wayne wasn't like anyone she'd ever met before and she doubted she'd ever meet anyone like him again.

Then it all fell to pieces. Everyone knew. Everyone could see it on their faces that they had lied, that they had broken the rules and that they paid the price by breaking each other's hearts.


	2. Don't Leave

**Title: **Don't Leave

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating: **K+

**Characters:** Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer: **I've spent the last two years not owning Skins...I doubt I own The Mentalist either.

**Notes: **Written for The Mentalist meme on Livejournal. Prompt by tromana, lyrics from Why Should I Change? from Over the Threshold. Only my second ever TM fic, so please be continue being nice. ;)

**Don't Leave**

The corridor was deserted; it ought to have been considering they'd worked late. Wayne suspected he was the only person left in the building; that was until Grace joined him by the elevator. They stood side by side, silently waiting for their ride to the first floor. The tension so thick it probably would have survived a knife and several different kinds of heavy machinery.

'Grace,' he whispered by way of addressing her, though he wasn't sure why he chose to address her at all.

'Wayne.'

He turned to face her, a natural instinct to be stood at an angle where they weren't staring at a wall. She cleared her throat, shifted on her feet and stared at the floor. She didn't normally look so uncomfortable in his presence.

'What's wrong?'

'I'm going away, for a while.'

'Oh?'

'Colorado, Seattle maybe. I'm going to take some time, by myself. Do some thinking, by, myself.'

He knew things had been fraught. Since everyone found out about their relationship life had been anything but simple. After they were asked to decide whether to end it there or move out of the team they'd spoken barely a few words to each other. It was just too difficult.

The elevator doors opened and Wayne stepped inside. He stared at Grace, a tear strolling down her cheek which she hastily wiped away, his own eyes downturned as he reached for the button to hold the elevator. She didn't move.

'How long?' he asked. 'How long are you going for?'

'I don't know. A month maybe.'

The elevator doors began to close as he let go of the button. He watched her stood there, looking as heartbroken as he felt. The sheer thought of her leaving for a while, not seeing here every day. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her from his life completely. He knew she'd be back and yet he feared that would be the last time he ever saw her.

His voice croaked out, dry from the strain of built up tears. 'Don't leave.'

The doors finished their journey, the sides touched and then they parted again, sprang back to life unexpectedly. When they'd opened further he saw Grace walking forwards, getting closer and closer until her hands reached for his neck, her lips collided with his mouth and the wall hit his back.


	3. Intimacy

**Title:** Intimacy

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/O'Laughlin, Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, 'nuff sed. ;P

**Author Note:** I've been really busy doing other things lately, so I'm glad to be back in TM world a little. Still learning!

**Intimacy**

"I had a lovely evening Craig, thank you."

The intention was to say goodnight at the door, to leave him with the idea that she was interested but not too interested and to accept his kiss and nothing more.

But to no avail.

Craig O'Laughlin was an FBI agent, persuasive by nature and ultimately very difficult to lie to. She liked him, not a lot, but she still liked him enough to allow him into her home. Enough to kiss him again and again, until he'd found her bedroom and pulled her playfully inside.

'Grace.'

Her name, whispered ever so lightly, lingered in the air. Different to what it should have sounded like, alien to her ears.

'Grace.'

She heard it again, whispered against her ear as it had been so many times before. Lips pressing kisses against her collar bone.

'Grace.'

She closed her eyes, wondered if the whispering of her name was in her head, remembered the last time she'd heard it spoken with such sweet disposition.

They danced. They spent the night at a jazz club sipping cocktails; getting tipsy as their feet became clumsier by the hour. At every opportunity their skin touched. His hand rested on her waist, disturbing the meeting of her skirt and top, purposefully tickling her hip. Her fingers wrapped loosely around his neck, their mouths joined once in a while with moments of passion.

'Wayne,' she whispered, reaching up to wrap her fingers through his hair, kissing him deeply until he pushed her away.

'Wayne?'

'Oh.'

She opened her eyes, stared up into Craig's pupils and realised her mistake. She wished she regretted it; instead she continued to lie there long after he'd crawled out of her bed and disappeared from her room.


	4. In Five Years

**Title:** In Five Years

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating: **K+

**Pairing:** Rigsby/Van Pelt

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, 'nuff sed. ;P

**Author Note:** I seem to be on a roll. Intimacy, this and probably the next 3 fics are all in the same line of story, just different time frames. I'm doing a challenge on Livejournal based on 5 prompts.

**In Five Years**

In five years' time Grace wanted everything. She wanted a top position doing a job she loved; perhaps taking over from Lisbon, if she ever left. She'd settle for special agent in the FBI. Craig would like that; he talked about the benefits of his job enough, even tried to persuade her to apply. Not that they'd be able to work together there anymore than she'd been able to work with Rigsby at the CBI.

She wanted to be married, preferably to somebody stable, probably not an officer or agent. Someone dependable, who worked hours where he could pick their children up from school and put them to bed on the evenings she worked late. They'd have four children altogether, twins first, boys, spitting image of their father. They'd stay as a unit for a few years before expanding. They'd go to private school where they'd have the best education money could buy.

When she dreamed of her future it became hard to see what she wanted clearly. When she thought of the high powered job she pictured Lisbon several years her senior, unmarried, too busy for romance. She didn't think she'd ever seen her in a relationship, in anything other than the sexual tension that screamed out every time she got close to Jane. Did a high powered job mean no time for family? Did a family mean no time for a high powered position?

Then there was love and romance. She'd always dreamt of being swept off her feet in a whirlwind romance like from the old romance films. But she couldn't think of love without thinking of Wayne. They couldn't be together. An impossibility if ever there was one. She'd loved him, still did. If she'd met Wayne under any other circumstances, been friends from their rookie days perhaps, or met on a case where he'd been an officer. Maybe things would be different. Maybe then they could have been together. Not now, not ever. That's why she couldn't marry someone from the inside; too many complications to deal with.

Then there was Craig; strong, responsible but ultimately boring. Sure he'd killed several hardened criminals and arrested countless more, he rode around in a helicopter like most people drove cars and he played Poker on a regular basis. But he didn't excite her. His exciting life stopped where personal came in.

She preferred the thought of marrying a banker, or an accountant; even an elementary school teacher. Anyone who wasn't working to protect the nation, anyone who wasn't Wayne.

In five years' time, she wanted it all.

Who was she kidding?

In five years told she'd either have a higher position and no relationships to speak of, or she'd be married to a boring man in a boring suit popping out children and working in the local police station.

She'd be working somewhere that Wayne didn't work. Not because either of them had chosen to leave the CBI, but because life moved on, promotions cropped up and they both wanted more for their careers. They'd go their separate ways, find new lives. She'd marry that boring man and Wayne would get a trophy wife. They'd have a couple of kids each and take them to soccer practice and football games.

Then they'd meet somewhere in the street, or on a job, and their eyes would connect in the way they had before things grew more complicated. They'd fall in love again, cheat on their partners break up their families all because she would never be able to get him out of her mind.

In five years' time, she could be Mrs Rigsby. In an ideal world. They'd find a way, force the rules to change, marry in a small ceremony by the ocean and settle down in a house with white picket fences and a garage. They'd have three children, two girls and a boy. They'd teach them that dreams come true even if it takes a few years. That love matters more than careers and that family is everything.

In five years' time she hoped life would be simpler.


	5. Love is a Battlefield

**Title:** Love is a Battlefield

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/O'Laughlin, Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, 'nuff sed. ;P

**Author Note:** For the Mentalist Prompt Tables on Livejournal. Still figuring out this Mentalist world! Forgive me...

**Love is a Battlefield**

She didn't know how it happened; didn't see it coming. Only heard about it from Lisbon, after. How could she have prepared herself for the fight? Rigsby had been fine, they'd talked, cleared the air. They had returned to being colleagues, perhaps friends. She thought they were friends.

_They couldn't be friends._ Not really. She knew that deep down, couldn't pretending anymore. Not now.

O'Laughlin had treated her well; he'd treated her like Rigsby once had. He'd reminded her of him in many ways. Now she could only see differences. Rigsby was hot headed, but he'd never pull out his gun. Not on a fellow agent, not on his girlfriend's ex. She wrapped her fingers around the necklace Craig had bought her, ripped it from around her neck without unclasping it. The metal chain dug into her skin, it was worth a brief chafing to get the so called gift away from her as quickly as possible. She discarded of said necklace in a trash can by the entrance to the hospital.

The entrance smelled like disinfectant, a smell she hated. A smell she associated with the death she was surrounded by so often. She never even set foot in hospitals anymore. The victims were already dead. But she never forgot that first victim she visited before she arrived at the CBI. His hand severed in a knife attack; sixteen lacerations to his chest. By the time she'd finished questioning his family, he'd died.

Craig was probably sat in a cell, or being interrogated by a senior agent for the FBI. She questioned his motives, wondered if there was another reason for his brash action. Then she saw him. Rigsby. He was sat up in a hospital bed with his arm in a sling staring at the wall with his sad, puppy dog eyes.

'Wayne?' she whispered, her emotions getting the better of her as she reached his side.

'Grace,' he replied, a smile reaching up to his eyes before he stopped it, retreated.

It wasn't the first time he'd been shot at. Probably wouldn't be the last. She swallowed a lump in her throat, tried her best to push the tears from the surface. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. It took too much energy to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him.

'What happened?' she asked, sitting down in a plastic chair, regretting it for its discomfort.

'O'Laughlin came at me waving his gun; I'd only just got out of the car. He must have followed me home. He said that you didn't want him.'

She looked down, rested her hands on her knees to steady them. Every possible motive for Craig's actions had gone through her mine, but the possibility that she was the cause had been pushed aside. She knew deep down that her recent actions had hurt him. He'd cared about her, she knew he had. They'd barely talked since she said Wayne's name in bed. There had been little to say. The night before she'd gone over to his place, explained that she didn't think things would work between them. He asked her about Rigsby. She'd told him it wasn't about him, that Wayne was not part of her decision. Now she wasn't so sure.

She swallowed again, the lump growing with every passing second. 'Are you okay?'

Rigsby nodded.

'I can't believe Craig would do something like this.'

'No. Maybe you didn't know him very well then.'

'I guess not.'

His eyebrows furrowed, his whole face tensed up with frustration. She could see it there, housed in his features. She leant forwards, rested her hands on the bed. There was nothing else to say, so they sat in silence. Her hand slipped gently into his.


	6. Can't Let Go

**Title:** Can't Let Go

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/O'Laughlin, Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, 'nuff sed. ;P

**Author Note:** For the Mentalist Prompt Tables on Livejournal. This is my longest TM fic so far and my first proper attempt at other characters, so I hope they're okay!

**Can't Let Go**

'Rigsby, Van Pelt, go to Mr Ashcroft's house, speak to his wife. Jane, come with me.'

'Where are we going?'

'You'll see.'

Rigsby turned away from Lisbon and Jane, reached into his pocket for his keys only to find it empty. He searched his other pocket, then the pockets in his trousers before turning back around.

'Err, boss.'

'What is it Rigsby? We've got a long drive; I'd really like to get going before Jane makes me stop for Tacos.'

'I can't find my keys.'

'What do you mean you can't find your keys?'

'I mean they were in my pocket, now they're not.'

Lisbon stared at him in exacerbation, her hand moving in small circles on her temple. Rigsby could sense her mood, wished he'd made sure to have his keys before they'd reached the parking lot.

'Did you leave them inside?' she asked.

'I just came in, I had my keys in my pocket then you sent me to get Jane.'

Lisbon frowned, heaved a sigh and turned to her surely employee. She raised an eyebrow and in mere seconds Jane lifted a set of keys out of his own pocket.

'Just trying to have a little fun.'

'Fun?' Lisbon barked. 'Give Rigsby back his keys and get in the car.'

The three of them stared at Jane, waited for him to hand the keys over so that they could all get on with their day. Van Pelt leant against Lisbon's car, wished for once Jane's tomfoolery wasn't happening on a hot day in July.

'Fetch,' Jane grinned, pretending to throw the keys across the parking lot. Rigsby turned around, searched for where they'd landed only for Jane to laugh at him.

'Jane,' Lisbon scolded.

'What?' Jane asked, shrugging his shoulders as he slid into the passenger seat.

'My keys?' Rigsby reminded him.

'Oh yeah, those,' he muttered. 'This set are mine. I accidentally dropped yours out of the window by Lisbon's office. You might want to search the dumpster.'

Lisbon climbed into the car beside him, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

'Jane, why would you, you know what, don't even bother.'

'Don't worry so much Lisbon,' he mumbled. 'Mrs Ashcroft had nothing to do with her husband's murder.'

'You'd better hope not.'

Rigsby watched Lisbon start up the engine and roll slowly out of the parking space. He turned to Van Pelt, hoping for some resolution to their problem. Before they could drive away he shouted after them.

'What do you want me to do now?'

'Get your keys and go question the suspect,' Lisbon shouted out of her window.

'But they're in the dumpster.'

'So?'

x

'Remind me why I'm doing this?' Van Pelt asked, picking a couple of cardboard boxes out of the trash.

'We need to find my keys.'

'Exactly,' she sighed. 'YOUR keys, why am I helping?'

'Because you're prettier than I am?'

Van Pelt frowned, 'You think that's going to make me enjoy this?'

'No, but maybe you'll stop complaining.'

He cracked a smile, showed her he wasn't being serious. Something which she quickly returned. He reached into the trash and retrieved a couple of bags. It smelt revolting. They searched for a while, managed to empty half the dumpster of various other items, to no such avail.

'It's no use,' he groaned. 'One of us is going to have to get in there.'

'Get in,' Grace began, unable avoid noticing Rigsby staring at her. 'No.'

'Come on Grace, you're smaller than me.'

'Not by much.'

'You weigh less.'

'So?'

'Come on,' he tried again, forcing eye contact, until she couldn't help but curl her lips. 'My arm's still bad from when your ex-boyfriend tried to shoot me.'

She sighed.

'You owe me.'

'I think you'll find you owe me.'

x

'It's no use Rigsby,' Grace announced, resting her hands against the side of the dumpster. 'I can't find them.'

'Anywhere?'

'Well, no.'

'Have you checked?'

'Of course I've checked. We've emptied almost every piece of trash there is. They're not here.'

He grunted, turned around in anger and took a deep breath. They'd already wasted almost an hour searching for the keys; a killer was still on the loose, potentially waiting to kill again. They didn't have time for Jane's stupid games to go wrong. His phone buzzed in his pocket, demanding his attention. He answered it quickly.

'Who is it?' Van Pelt asked.

'It's Jane,' he mouthed.

'What does he want? Do they have a new lead?'

Rigsby rolled his eyes, muttered something quickly and hung up the phone.

'Well?' Grace asked.

'He found my keys; they were in his other pocket.'

Grace closed her eyes, wiped at her cheek with her fingers before realising her mistake. She wiped again with the back of her hand.

'Asshole.'

'Come on, let's get you out of there,' Rigsby smiled, holding out a hand.

She took it, lifted herself from the base of the dumpster and allowed Rigsby to pull her up and out. She rested her hands on his shoulders. She'd almost made it out as her foot caught on the side, knocking Rigsby off balance. They fell down against the pile of rubbish now strewn across the parking lot.

'Oh,' she gasped, falling against Rigsby's body. His hand's slipped down to rest upon her hips, holding her gently. She swallowed, couldn't catch a breath. The humid air stifling.

'Grace,' he whispered, his hands moving up her back, resting against her shoulder blades, pulling her closer.

'Wayne,' she responded, staring deep into his eyes as they closed them. Their lips meeting in a slow, sensual embrace.

She pulled away; he wanted to bring her back to him. To kiss her, to hold her, to make her his. Instead she clambered to her feet and brushed down the dirt covering her clothes. He watched her, forgetting that he was lay on several bags full of trash. She turned away from him, began to walk back towards the entrance of the building.

'Grace,' he called after her, standing up, rushing to her side. He grabbed her elbow, didn't allow her to shrug it off. 'Wait.'

'We can't do this Wayne, not without one of us getting hurt.'

'We can.'

'No,' she shook her head, adamant. He watched for a moment as she strode away.

'Grace. Stop.'

She stopped.

'There's no point.'

'A month ago I applied for a job outside of the CBI. I start in a couple of weeks.'

She turned around, frowned in his direction. He couldn't place the expression on her face, didn't know quite what she was thinking.

'But.'

'I can't stand working here when I can't be with you. I thought I could. But then O'Laughlin. I can't watch you see anyone else.'

'So you're just going to leave?'

'Isn't that what we wanted all along? To be together?'

'Not like this. Not at the expense of your career.'

'It's not at the expense of my career Grace. I want to do this. I've wanted to do this since the moment Hightower found out about us. But you wouldn't let me.'

Wayne stood up tall, tried to shake off the emotion falling out with his words. He had to stay strong. Whatever happened, he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him.

'Are you sure?'

'As sure as I am that I love you.'

Grace's eyes creased, her mouth opened with a smile. He allowed his expression to mirror hers as they breached the gap between them. He wrapped his fingers around her cheeks, brought her lips to his and kissed her again. Not stopping until he could barely breath.

'God it smells round here,' he coughed.

'Whose fault is that?' she laughed.

'When I get my hands on Jane I'm gonna kill him.'

'Just as long as you don't end up in jail, not when I've just got you back.'


	7. For Always

**Title:** For Always

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, I don't want to if tromana can't.

**Author Note:** For the Mentalist Prompt Tables (table I) on Livejournal.

**For Always**

The hand lay cold against the table, not flat, not anything really. The fingers barely curled up at the ends as though she'd been holding something. She had; a gun. That's what Lisbon said. A gun, but no vest. Why hadn't she taken her vest?

In his line of work, Rigsby had seen hundreds of bodies. Most of them dead. He remembered the smells they often emit, the way the skin, particularly around the eyes, was drained of blood, of life. Some of them had stab wounds, or blows to the head, others had bullets lodged in their chest.

Not one of them prepared him for the moment he entered the morgue.

The body lay on the table, peacefully. The side of his mouth curled as he watched her silent slumber and pretended for a moment that she was dreaming. Only she wasn't sleeping, she never would again. He ran his fingers through her long, red hair like he'd done thousands of times before. Hair that he'd kissed, stroked, curled up around his fingers as they lay in bed together.

Her eyes were closed, those beautiful orbs not visible at all. The shape of her nose, her colourless lips, her cheekbones all making up the familiar contours of her face, contours he knew blindfolded. Skin that he'd touched, kissed, whispered sweet words against in the middle of the night. The space between them disappeared so that he could press his lips gently against the skin of her forehead. Droplets rolled down his cheeks when he stood taller. Tears, they were tears. Not that he'd ever admit that. He didn't cry. He was a grown man who was strong. Strong men didn't cry.

Instead he turned his attention back to the hand, the colourless fingers, drained of everything that made them Grace's. He linked his fingers with them and swallowed the lump in his throat. With his other hand he slipped a simple, gold band from his pocket and focused his eyes on the jewels set into it. A ring that no longer had a purpose.

'I was going to leave for you,' he whispered, as he forced the ring onto her left finger, carefully slid it over the knuckle until it sat snug around her skin.

'I'll love you, for always.'


	8. Losing The Fight

**Title:** Losing The Fight

**Pairing:** Rigsby/Van Pelt

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Mentalist, Simples.

**Author Note: **This one is AU, I wrote most of it a while ago (before I took a hiatus from writing The Mentalist fic) and only just realised it was left unfinished. So here we go...

**Losing The Fight**

He couldn't do it anymore.

Fight.

He couldn't watch from afar as O'Loughlin put his palm on her back or kissed her cheek as way of farewell. He couldn't go about his working day with the familiar, yet persistent aching of his heart. He couldn't stand three feet from her when she knelt beside a body, pulled her hair behind her shoulder and creased her brow.

He just couldn't do it.

It was over.

O'Loughlin had claimed her; he'd asked her a question, slipped a ring over her finger and promised to be hers forever and there was nothing Rigsby could do about it.

Drumming his fingers across the desk didn't change the fact that Lisbon and Hightower stood around Van Pelt's desk offering their congratulations. Even Jane hovered around, asking questions, seeking out O'Loughlin's intentions with his cheesy grin.

The only other person not interested in the news was Cho, but that was more his way of being, than his support for Rigsby.

Leading up to the twenty-four hours before, Rigsby had still been fighting. He'd considered removing O'Loughlin from their lives; framing him for murder, knocking him over 'accidentally' with his car perhaps, or maybe even shooting him in the head. He'd considered winning Van Pelt back; admitting he still loved her, sweeping her off her feet in the CBI parking lot and asking her to marry him.

He'd thought of it first.

He just didn't do it.

Why hadn't he done it?

Now he was forced to watch O'Loughlin play nice with the work colleagues, his charming smile winning over everyone but him. Once the champagne had come out, even Cho succumbed to a glass. The day was nearly over after all. All their cases were cold, or at least temporarily stagnant and they never knew just when the next murder would occur.

When the group erupted into laughter after one of O'Loughlin's FBI tales, Rigsby couldn't take it anymore. He thumped the desk hard with his fist and jumped to his feet, hoping to capture the attention of his occupied work colleagues. To no avail. Instead he slipped out of the bull pen and into the kitchenette on the other side of the corridor. There he filled a glass with water and sipped on the lukewarm liquid, then he rested his hands against the surface and took a number of deep breaths.

'Wayne?'

He turned at the sound of her voice, at the pained tone she used to grasp his attention. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He couldn't stand there listening to her voice, watching her lips move, knowing that she would never be his.

'Wayne,' she made another attempt.

He moved his hand across his eyes and rubbed his lids. The emotions built up inside his chest made breathing harder as a lump grew in the back of his throat.

He couldn't do it.

Then his personal space was invaded, he could feel her there beside him, hovering in front of him, waiting for him to open his eyes. He couldn't. Not when the eyes staring back at him belonged to Grace. Not when she had already promised to love another man for the rest of her life.

'Rigsby,' she whispered, returning to his formal work name, the final nail in the coffin.

'Don't.'

He snarled at her, growled with the anger that rose up inside of his body. He couldn't be there when she tried to be so nice. He'd rather she left him alone and never came back, if only to give him peace.

'Rigsby, I'm sorry,' she tried, but the words fell flat.

'I'm leaving,' he told her, opening his eyes but not removing them from the stain upon the carpet from the time Jane dropped a whole tray of drinks.

'Leaving?'

'I haven't handed my notice in yet, but come Monday, I'll be getting ready to go.'

'Go where?'

'San Diego.'

The down turn of her eyes sunk his stomach and yet he couldn't help but feel some victory in informing her of his decision. He'd chosen to leave because he couldn't bear to be in the same place as her, without having her as his own, yet he also knew that by leaving, he would depart with what shred of dignity he had left.

'I don't want that,' she cried, her voice strained in that beautiful way, like the gentle lull of the ocean.

'You don't get to choose what happens anymore.'

'Please, Rigsby. Wayne,' she begged, reaching out to his shirt, resting her hands upon his shoulders as though they weren't separated.

He should have pushed her away, he should have told her not to touch him again, not to come anywhere near him. But he'd always been a sucker for her love. He dared look into her eyes where he saw disappointment and regret. Everything he thought he knew and everything he hoped would be the truth was locked up in those eyes. She cupped his face with her hands and their mouths pressed together in the sweetest, softest kiss. Then she was gone, as quickly as she'd arrived. His hand moved to his lips, touching the space where she had once been. That was when he knew that no matter how hard he tried to come out kicking and screaming, he'd already lost the moment he'd told her that he loved her.


	9. More Than Anything

**Title: **More Than Anything

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** PG

**Characters: **Rigsby with mentions of Van Pelt, Cho, Lisbon and O'Laughlin.

**Summary: **Forgiveness is easy when there are no more obstacles.

**Prompt:** ROMANCE: Rigsby/Van Pelt, three little words (from Paint it Red) and 02. Forgiveness (from Mentalist Prompt).

**Notes: **Another ficathon fic for Paint It Red (want to join? Just ask me about it!) and another prompt completed for Mentalist Prompt, I'm happy!

The last time he spoke to Grace about something other than work was the day he told her he wouldn't be attending her wedding. He'd stared into her eyes with a whole speech ready in his head and when it came to it, he'd struggled to get out much more than the bare necessities. The hardest part was watching her seemingly happy expression turn quickly to disappointment.

He hated disappointing her, more so since they'd broken up. Contrary to how he felt about O'Laughlin, he wanted Grace to be happy. He wanted that more than anything else in the world.

After he'd turned down the wedding invite she'd made it obvious, though only to him, that she was unhappy about his decision. Grace being Grace didn't do it in a nasty way, but he could tell by her professional manner and stern voice that she couldn't quite accept what he'd said. He understood why. If the situation had been reversed, he'd have felt the same.

When Jane brought the list of suspects in the Red John mole case to the team, his initial reaction to O'Laughlin being on the list was one of sheer delight. He loved the idea of wiping the smug look off the bastard's face, not that he'd ever really done anything to justify being called a bastard. In fact he'd seemed like a decent enough man.

Wanting to smack him in the face with his fist was not his first thought, however, his first thought was of Grace. Watching her stable expression turn to shock and finally pain, cut deeper than the idea of O'Laughlin being Red John's mole.

The moment they discovered he was, Grace's face slipped back into Rigsby's mind. In the rushed journey to the car and the brief phone call with Hightower about what had happened, his heart crumbled into thousands of tiny pieces. Lisbon had been shot, which was hard enough to withstand, let alone everything else that followed. The last thing he ever wanted was for Grace to get hurt; he never even imagined she would have to shoot her fiancé dead.

They continued driving to the safe house, despite the fact Lisbon would have been on her way to the hospital. Hightower filled them in on the situation, along with the local police department, who were first at the scene. They made sure everything was secure, the case had been dealt with to their usual standard and Hightower was no longer in any danger before they continued their journey.

He first spotted Grace through the glass panel in the door to the emergency room, her long arms and legs appeared smaller as she slouched in a chair. He'd never really seen her slouch before; the usually bubbly woman that she was always took pride in her posture. Cho continued down the corridor to speak to the doctors, as he passed her he nodded his head respectfully. Then she turned in her chair, rising to her feet the moment she saw him standing across from her.

The distance between them evaporated and before either of them could say anything, he'd wrapped his arms tightly around her back as he'd done many times before. Only this time there was no romance, just complete, unadulterated comfort. She sobbed against the lapel of his blazer as he squeezed her tightly.

'I'm _so_ sorry,' he whispered.

'No, I'm sorry,' she cried, her voice muffled by the material. 'I shouldn't have cut you out.'

'You have _nothing_ to be sorry about.'


	10. For Her

**Title:** For Her.  
**Characters:** Rigsby and Van Pelt (slight mention of the rest of the team)  
**Summary: **You gave up everything. For her.  
**Prompt:**** Ficathon - **ROMANCE: Rigsby/Van Pelt, _business before pleasure._ Mentalist Prompt – "I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing, Just prayin' to a god that I don't believe in, Cos I got time while she got freedom, Cos when a heart breaks no it don't break even" - Breakeven, the Script.  
**Notes:** I don't like this because it makes my heart sad. But I hope you like it, it's got angst in it. Major, sad angst.  
**Spoilers:** None, it's kind of AU.

**For Her**

You gave up everything.

For her.

It was fine at first; you did your best to make it work, to be together despite the distance. What was an hour's plane ride between lovers? Neither of you wanted it to be over at the time. If you had, then you wouldn't have moved to the other end of the state just to keep your relationship. The rules made it impossible for you to be together otherwise.

You gave up your career.

For her.

You loved her and she loved you. Loves young dream living it as best as they could. Your friends celebrated how romantic it was that you stayed together no matter what, that you fought the distance and won. Lisbon, Cho, Jane, they all promised to come visit you and you them, you talked about meeting up for Thanksgiving or New Years, but it didn't happen.

You barely saw them.

For her.

You couldn't afford to fly back to Sacramento often, not on the low paid job you ended up taking. She flew to you and you allowed her to. The few times you did fly were brief visits and cost you more than you could afford.

You didn't have any money.

For her.

She could have paid for your flight, but it was easier to let her travel. You worked regimented hours; hers were too unpredictable to make plans off of.

You let it happen.

For her.

You could only really be together at weekends and holidays. Those she didn't spend with her family that was. You tried to spend them together but there were only so many times you could offer her a family Christmas with your own parents. You spent as much time together as was possible considering the circumstances.

You gave up spending time with your own family.

For her.

You worked for three years in the same crappy police department where budget cuts were high and morale was low. You got shot twice in the first six months, once seriously. You bounced back because you loved police work. You missed the excitement of the CBI, the major cases with well-known faces and serial killers.

You worked in a mundane position.

For her.

You didn't want the morose tasks, you hated solving boring crimes. All you intended to do that day was talk to a known gang member about his sister, who'd been raped and beaten to death. You didn't expect to be leaving on a paramedic's trolley losing more blood than your body could cope with. Nor did you expect to end up fighting for your life in hospital or lose the majority of feeling in the entire right side of your body.

You lost your health.

For her.

You expected her to want to take you in, to look after you in your hour of need. She was a caring kind of person after all. She wanted to, in many ways. But she also had a full time job, miles away from your home.

You moved away again.

For her.

Being back in Sacramento wasn't the same. Cho had married eighteen months earlier and was now the busy father of twins and Lisbon and Jane were too wrapped up in some secret love affair. Nobody had time for you anymore, not when you couldn't leave the house without someone there to help you. The recovery process was long and most days you sat staring out of the window wishing your life could be different.

You lost your independence.

For her.

You fell six times in three weeks. You discussed your options. She couldn't leave work, not with your medical bills. Besides, she was looking at a promotion in another unit, a higher up position which she was almost guaranteed. You didn't want to be a burden on her. Instead you moved in with your parents like you were fresh out of college and down on your luck.

You let them treat you like a child.

For her.

You stayed together for a few months and tried to make it work. What other option did you have? You still loved her, deep down, you wanted to be with her for the rest of your life. But you were in a wheelchair living an hour's drive from her home. She barely had time to phone you, let alone visit. Eventually you cut your losses.

You let her go because it was the best thing to do.

For her.

For both of you.


	11. The Fear

**Title:** The Fear

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/O'Laughlin, Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Prompts:** Mentalist Prompt, table I, 13: _Downward spiral _& Prompt 054: _Tell me it's not true/Say it's just a story/Something on the news - Tell Me It's Not True, from Blood Brothers_. Paint It Red Ficathon (if you want to join, just message me!), GEN: Van Pelt, _"If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter. " — Markus Zusak, The Book Thief._

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately I don't own The Mentalist, but really, I'd just be happy owning Van Pelt.

**Note:** I have been really going for it with The Mentalist one-shots, it's been enjoyable.

**The Fear**

You can't believe it. You won't. Nothing in life has prepared you for this moment.

As a child you walked around your home in your mom's heels, her old blush applied to your cheeks and the lace tablecloth wrapped around your head and arms. Your brother stood beside you, linking your arm. Actively protesting as you made your way down the makeshift aisle, toward your best friends. You practiced it time and time again until you knew it was just right. Your brother always played your father; he did look like him after all. That same chiselled chin and demanding tone of voice. Your friends faithfully followed as your groom and Reverend, swapping and changing so as not to make either job too boring. Reflectively, you know it unfair that you never allowed them to be the bride. But from that moment you'd made preparations to get married, to walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown with your father on your arm, the love of your life stood waiting for the moment when you offered yourself to him for the rest of your life.

Fairy tales didn't quite work out that way.

Firstly, Craig, as loved up as you were with him, was a replacement groom.

Although you dreamt of marriage and all the things that came with it, it took you years to find someone you picturing at your wedding. You played the same story over in your mind, even on the first date and most of the time you were left disappointed by the absence of your current suitor.

Until you met Rigsby.

You didn't even need to date him; the thought simply came to you one night within your first week on the job. You woke on the sofa, the book resting on your chest fell to the floor when you realised what was happening.

You weren't surprised, but you didn't expect it either.

But fairy tales didn't really have happy endings, not in the CBI. If you hadn't been forced to end the relationship, it would have broken down eventually. Or worse, one of you would have been killed.

When Craig came into your life you didn't expect a second chance at happiness. He treated you well and showed you what life could be like. You didn't feel quite the same as you did with Rigsby, but that didn't matter. You could never be together and the sooner you realised that the better. You accepted Craig's proposal, partly because you loved him and partly overcompensating for the lost love of your life you would never get to marry.

You dreamed again of the days when you walked around your house wearing your mom's heels, her old blush on your cheeks and the lace tablecloth wrapped around your head and arms. The one thing you hoped to get out of life, aside from your career, was being handed to you on a plate. The excitement overjoyed you and left you with a fixed smile. Finally life was falling into place, whether it was perfect or not was another story.

When Craig pulled out his gun and shot Lisbon, your whole world shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

You can't believe it. You won't. Nothing in life has prepared you for this moment.

The moment your fiancé shoots the closest thing you have to a friend. The moment you lift your gun up to his chest and fire, without thinking.

You can't believe that he's dead and with it dies your childhood dream of wearing a beautiful dress and walking arm in arm with your father down the aisle.

The moment you've prepared yourself for since you were a little girl, has gone. All that you're left with is a feeling of fear.

Fear of a world you once loved. Fear of an emotion you considered above all others.

Fear of living itself.


	12. Standing In The Night

**Title:** Standing In The Night

**Author:** Miss Peg

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Van Pelt/O'Laughlin, Van Pelt/Rigsby

**Disclaimer:** I own my words, but I don't own these characters.

**Author Note:** This is one of my longer TM fics and it's probably taken me the longest out of any other fic. I keep revisiting it and it's never quite worked out. Until today.

**Standing In The Night**

Late September in California hadn't lost the warmth of the summer's sun, the gentle blow of the wind against Grace's face, a subtle reminder that the days were beginning to change. She sat on a log somewhere in the middle of nowhere; she could pinpoint her exact location, if she wanted to. But she didn't.

The breeze rustled the side of her two man tent, a sound that at first frightened her to death, until she became accustomed to it.

She hadn't told anyone of her little venture, she didn't see a reason to. She had been forced to take a sabbatical from work and well, there was no longer anyone to check in with daily. That being said, there were some people she expected to worry if she stayed away too long.

Camping reminded her of simpler times, of being out in the woods with her family. Her mom always complained about the mosquitos, covering everyone in spray whilst her father showed her and her siblings how to build a fire. The first time he lit one, her face lit up in awe at his creation. The orange flames danced about their small clearing, smoke billowing up in the direction of the wind. She stared at the embers of her own freshly made fire. It had already begun to burn out, leaving with it a sea of black ash cracked with orange and red. Perfect for toasting marshmallows, if she'd thought to bring any; which she hadn't.

Before setting off in her car, she'd sent a brief message to her father, informing him of the improbability of contacting her for at least a week. He was, after all, one of the only people who might worry. He probably knew where she was, what she was doing. Camping for Grace had been like a bird discovering it could fly. Her father sometimes disappeared for a night or two, particularly before a big game. He liked the solace, the time out from real life and all the technology that came with it. Like her father, she knew when she needed to get away.

Losing her job, albeit temporarily 'to recover', had been more counterproductive than she would have liked. Lisbon would have allowed her back, but Lisbon was still on sick leave. Cho, who replaced her, didn't stand up to authority on things he didn't believe in, not like Lisbon. She loved the job as much as Van Pelt; she would have understood her desire to stay busy. If Hightower had been back, then maybe she would have stood a chance, unfortunately LaRoche hadn't hung up his Special Agent in Charge boots just yet. So there she had been, stuck at home wondering what to do with each and every day. She'd already taken a trip home to see her family, and then she'd spent almost three days at the firing range. There were only so many things she could do to stop the mundane tasks she found in her apartment. She'd even taken to watching soap operas which did more harm than good.

After a brief meeting with LaRoche and Cho to establish that they wanted her to take at least another week, she packed up her car and drove as far as she could get before nightfall.

On leaving the CBI she'd bumped, quite literally, into Rigsby. She hadn't intended to see him; had quite actively been avoiding him. They hadn't seen each other since she'd gone with Lisbon to the hospital. He'd enveloped her into a bear hug and she'd been reluctant to let him go. So much had happened between them. The time away had barely even covered the hurt she felt over O'Laughlin's betrayal, let alone losing Rigsby in all ways but one. She didn't want to be just colleagues, but she wasn't sure she could ever regain his friendship either.

She wrapped a sweater around her shoulders and hunched her back over the fire, edging closer to make use of the warmth emitting from the embers. If it wasn't getting late, she'd have thrown another log on and got the fire raging again, but she didn't intend to stay up for much longer.

By the time the fire had almost burnt itself out Grace had pulled her sleeping bag out of her tent and settled down under the stars. She didn't know why she'd even brought her tent. She hadn't used it in years, except to store some of her belongings. That night the stars were hard to see as clouds covered the earth, a fluffy blanket wrapped around them. She let out a sigh as she looked closely at the dark space above.

She'd taken Wayne camping, had tried to take Craig too, but he'd refused her offer countless times, opting for hotel and spa breaks instead. She'd enjoyed them, but they were never quite the same. She and Rigsby had slept out under the stars. The first time they'd camped, he'd tried to explain what the stars meant, what reason there was for each constellation. She'd listened faithfully until he'd reached a stumbling block and she'd informed him of the actual fact. His cheeks had turned pink but she'd simply kissed him and thanked him for the effort he'd gone to. She missed the simple moments, where her memories weren't overshadowed by pain.

The sleeping bag hugged her in all the right places and though she felt a slight touch of cold on the tip of her nose, she ignored it in favour of watching the fireflies dance above. Being surrounded by nature reminded her only of the good times, when she and Wayne had been in love and nothing else mattered. If only the world hadn't been against them, maybe then they'd have found happiness, together. Instead, her heart was broken into a thousand pieces because she'd taken a risk with someone new.

She decided, under the darkness of night, that she couldn't keep going down the same sorry path. She couldn't live the next few years of her life regretting the difficult times and though there would be no quick fix for the pain, she had to find a way of moving on. If only to settle her fears. She wasn't the kind of woman who collapsed at the feet of men who betrayed her; she was a strong and confident person who had so much of her life to live. She may not have been able to forget what Craig had done, that he had died at her own hand. But she could forgive herself for being blind to his flaws and put all of her efforts into the things she still had left.


	13. Keeping You Close

**Title**: Keeping You Close

**Rating**: R

**Summary**: Rigsby and Van Pelt get stuck in a lift together.

**Notes**: Written for a holiday fic challenge on Livejournal. For sirenofodysseus's prompt It's my twisted way of keeping you close about Rigsby and Van Pelt.

x

'See you, Boss,' said Rigsby as he stepped into the elevator. Lisbon smiled and walked towards the bullpen.

'Hold the lift,' said a voice he knew all too well. He smiled and waited for Van Pelt to enter before letting go of the door button and pressing the one for the first floor.

They stood side by side as they had done many times before. They turned to look at each other and smiled. They could do this, the friend thing, it was perfectly possible.

The elevator shuddered, the lights flickered and they came to a sudden stop. Rigsby fell against the back wall and pushed his fingers out flat to steady himself. When he was sure he'd secured his balance he stood up and turned to Van Pelt.

'You alright?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at Van Pelt, who straightened up beside him.

'Just about,' she said, pressing the first floor button once more. The light came on but the lift didn't move. She pressed it again a couple of times before giving up. 'Guess we're stuck.'

He smiled his most comforting smile and folded his arms across his chest. There was little else to do in such a confined space. He watched her press the alarm button and speak to the security guard who assured them they were doing everything possible to get them out.

'I don't have time for this,' said Van Pelt, leaning against the wall and letting out a sigh. Rigsby tried to be sympathetic, really he did, but he suspected the only reason she didn't have time was because of O'Laughlin.

'I've got places to be too,' he muttered, wishing to change the subject.

'Craig's expecting me outside any minute now.'

He didn't really need to know that.

'He doesn't like me to be late.'

'He wouldn't.' Rigsby rolled his eyes.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

She knew exactly what it meant. He didn't like the guy, never had and probably never would. He was the one thing, aside from the CBI rules, standing between him and Van Pelt. He knew it was selfish of him but he had that 'if I can't have her no one else should' attitude, only because he still loved her.

'Nothing,' he whispered, staring at his feet.

'It's not nothing,' she said, her voice lowering in volume. 'Why do you dislike him so much?'

'I don't.'

'Try telling me that again with your eyes open.' Her mouth curled up into a smile, it was infectious and there was little he could do but smile in return.

'You know how I feel, Grace.'

She lowered her head. He knew she knew. She couldn't deny it as much as he could deny that nothing was wrong.

'I'm with Craig now,' she said, frowning.

That didn't stop him stepping towards her, closing the gap in the elevator. He reached out and ran his hand along the side of her face, cupping her cheek. He couldn't resist touching her.

'You don't want to be.'

'How do you know?' she asked, but he cut her off, rested his lips briefly against hers until the lift sprang to life and they parted quickly, continuing the journey, stood side by side, down to the first floor.

When the doors opened they walked out in silence.


	14. Evil is Only Obvious in Retrospect

**Title**: Evil Is Obviously Only In Retrospect

**Author**: miss_peg

**Rating**: K+

**Fandom**: Skins

**Summary**: Wayne Rigsby was the love of her life.

**Notes**: Written for a holiday fic challenge on Livejournal, for cifre's prompt _Evil is obviously only in retrospect _about Rigsby and Van Pelt.

Wayne Rigsby was the love of her life.

She hadn't realised it then, of course. The laws of the land wouldn't allow it. She'd loved him, she knew she'd loved him, she just didn't realise how much.

Meeting Craig she had been in a fragile state, who wouldn't be after the premature end of a relationship? Despite her decision to put a stop to it for the sake of both of their careers, she still felt her heart break into a thousand tiny pieces.

Craig had been the perfect remedy in order to help her move on. She'd fallen hard and fast. In hindsight she knew that the love she had for Craig wasn't as deep, or as significant. If only for the simple fact that it had come about too soon after her relationship with Wayne had ended.

It wasn't until she realised that Craig was a lying, cheating, murderous scumbag that she appreciated the depth of her feelings for Wayne. He was, by definition, the perfect man. He had loved her as unconditionally as she had loved him, he treated her well and gave her enough attention without seeming like a crazy stalker. He even bought her her favourite flowers on Valentine's Day and an antique necklace they'd seen in a jewellery store for her birthday.

He cared about caring for her and she loved that about him.

She didn't realise just how much until her fiancé ripped his mother's necklace from her neck.

The final knife in the heart, in the sorry affair, that was her relationship with Craig O'Laughlin. He tried and sometimes he was exceptionally sweet, but he wasn't Wayne.

Aside from his evil, cheating ways, he was never the man that Wayne had been, and still probably was.

Only, his ship had sailed a long time ago and she was left on the shore with her killer lover. By choice. There was no going back. She couldn't shout for him to return to her because he'd already travelled too far away, he'd already fallen in love with another girl from another port.

She'd not seen exactly what she'd wanted until what she wanted was well and truly gone.

**End**


	15. Afterwards

**Title**: Afterwards

**Author**: Miss Peg/RedFi

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. I'm just being lazy, apparently. (I don't believe that.)

**Summary**: Van Pelt considers her life post Rigsby and O'Laughlin.

**Spoilers**: Yes, all the way up to mid/late season four.

**Notes**: Written for the Paint It Red Ficathon.

**Prompt**: Gen/Romance: Rigsby/Van Pelt  
Here we are, we're perfect strangers  
After all this time there's no more you and I  
But don't look for blame  
We've come so far to different places  
And now try to live a lie would be a crime  
It's better this way  
- After the Love Has Gone, Steps

You sit at your desk with your computer mouse in hand, a cup of tea going cold as you watch Rigsby with his son. It's been three weeks and six days since he was born, the light of his father's eye. You wonder how he had got so far away from you, how after all of this time you weren't still in the same place. You tried to move on and it failed, that's something you've come to terms with and now you see what he probably saw every day you were with O'Laughlin; distance. It was like you didn't know the man sitting before you, the small child wriggling in his papa's arms. His whole face lit up in a way you've never seen before, not even when he looked at you, when he loved you.

Sarah fussed around them, conscious of their little boy being exposed to the criminal cases you dealt with on a daily basis. Her fussing seemed pointless, unfounded, it made you want to shake her until she understood that the bad things in the world wouldn't hurt Benjamin because Rigsby would always protect him from it. You understood her concerns, though.

You tried to focus on your work but your mind wandered elsewhere, to the toy cow in Jane's hand as he shook it about in front of the baby. Lisbon, the one everyone expected to shut herself away from the visit after a brief glance, sat beside Rigsby with her finger claimed by the youngest member of the team. Even Cho smiled, something you rarely saw him do, at the quirky things Benjamin did.

You feel so distant from the whole team, like you're in another room, or another world. If you were a ghost you imagined it would feel a little like this, on the edge of your world but not quite out of it.

The feelings bubbling inside of you are not what you expected them to be. You thought you'd be jealous of Rigsby and Sarah, of their little family. You expected to be angry that they were flaunting their happiness in front of you, like you had once done to him. It was times like that where you realised just how much you put him through, the man you once thought would be your future. You never expected to reach the day where he would sit before you with his child on his lap and the woman he would probably marry beside them.

You don't feel jealous, you feel happy. It's not your average kind of happy either, the grin on your face, want to jump about with glee happy, just the happy where you feel honest feelings and the only words that could possibly come out of your mouth are words of contentment.

Nobody seems to have noticed that you're paying them little attention and yet all the attention Benjamin and his new parents deserve. They're all too focused on the baby that you slip out of the room unnoticed.

The tea in your mug washes down the drain quickly, swirling around making the stainless steel surface appear brown until every last drop is gone. You boil some water and fill the mug with a fresh teabag. Jane always told you that tea could fix any problem, no matter how big or small. Sometimes you drank it because you liked the flavour, other times you drank it because you needed something more to get you through.

The tea brewed in the mug, boiling water sending waves of steam rising up out of the porcelain. You perch on a small chair in the kitchenette, resting your mug on the table. You turn your head briefly and spot Rigsby, holding his son in the air as the little boy's face lit up, the true meaning of father/son bonding.

Your view is blocked and it takes you a moment to refocus on the person stood barely a foot away. Jane always knew when something was wrong, you should have known that and yet you underestimated him, for a second. He didn't let you down though, he filled one of his cups with tea and sat down opposite. He didn't speak and nor did you, he just waited, his hand resting upon your own by way of comfort.

The tea burned on its first trip down your throat, the water was too hot to drink and yet you didn't care. You continued to sip because you needed something to distract you from the contradictory feelings bubbling away inside. On the one hand you felt elated for Rigsby and on the other you felt a strong sense of disappointment and sadness that you weren't the one holding the baby. Not Rigsby's, necessarily; your own.

Your life had begun falling into place long before his and you knew he still had a long way to go. You'd made plans; set up a saving's account in the hope of using it to buy a house and have a family. You picked out wedding invitations, sent them out and received back many RSVPs. This should have been your moment, your future and you didn't quite know how to feel about the loss you'd still not managed to bury.

Jane's hand squeezed tightly around your fingers and you tried to smile, his own grin making it that little bit easier until you could feel your cheeks burning.

You wouldn't go back out to see Benjamin; you'd avoid your work until Lisbon traced you down and dragged you back to your desk. It was too much, too quickly.

For now you would sit and drink tea with Jane, talking about nothing in particular and forgetting that yards away was something that made you both feel the weight of your losses.


End file.
